The Mourning Process
by Balizabeth
Summary: Harry struggles to deal with his loss from Order of the Phoenix, and receives a letter to help him grieve.


The Mourning Process

by Balizabeth

The mourning process. What does that mean exactly? Muggles and wizards alike were always talking about it, and Harry knew for a fact that there were countless muggle books written on the subject. But what did it _mean? _Was there really a process that "the grieved" was supposed to go through? Anger, denial, pain, acceptance? Something ridiculous like that?

Well, Harry thought ruefully, he could let all those writers in on something. There is no process. There is no schedule; there is no reasonable layout of emotions. There is nothing. After the anger and hate he felt in Dumbledore's office, he was spent. It was like all the feeling and emotion he had was let out that one night, and now there was nothing.

But perhaps nothing was not the right word. Nothing implied that he felt fine, that there was no pain or anything going on inside him. But the wasn't true.

It was so not true that Harry felt as though he might laugh uproariously at the irony at all.

What he felt was emptiness. It was like there was something missing from him. Like something had ripped, torn away from him and all he felt now was that gaping hole where it used to be. _Used_ to be. He felt this so keenly that on numerous occasions he caught himself with his right hand over his breast, where his heart was.

The first time he did it, he was surprised. He couldn't quite figure out why his hand was there. And then he realized that he had sub-consciously been checking whether his heart was there or not. Whether it was still beating. He felt that emptiness, that horrible sense of losing something so greatly that the only way he could explain it was that his heart had either stopped or taken out entirely.

The fact that he could still be living without a heart seemed totally irrelevant.

Why, why, why, he asked himself, couldn't he mourn Sirius? What was wrong with him that he couldn't grieve, couldn't cry over the one thing in his life that had been a like a father. What's wrong with me that doesn't let me cry over my dead godfather. And then those words repeated inside his head like an echo in a cavern…

__

my dead godfather…my dead godfather…my dead godfather…my dead godfather…

God, why couldn't he have at least looked at the package Sirius had given him at Christmas? His goddamn pride had cost Sirius his life. If he had only opened it and seen that it was a mirror, just a mirror, something that would have caused _no risk to Sirius at all_, Sirius would be with him right now. Alive and happy and doing all the things he should be doing. Like writing to his godson…

As soon as he thought that, an owl appeared at his window. For a moment, Harry stared at it as though he did not understand what it was. With trembling hands (why? Why were they trembling? It was just an owl, after all…probably delivering some letter from Mrs. Weasley, inquiring after his health…) he reached for it. The envelope was unlabeled. He slowly tore it open, then unfolded it. It felt like time had come to stop. And then he saw the handwriting of the letter…

How many owls had he received that carried letters penned by this hand? Enough to count on two hands, that was for sure. Yet he would always remember that handwriting. Ha, he couldn't forget it if he tried.

Yet even as part of his mind recognized the fact that this was Sirius' handwriting, another part disagreed violently. Sirius was dead, he was dead, and therefore he could not be writing letter to Harry. This was magic, dark magic, and he shouldn't read the letter. He should destroy it right now before something bad happened.

But he knew he couldn't, he wouldn't do that. Whatever the consequences may be, this was written in his godfather's hand and he had to read it, to drink in the words, whatever they may be. He had so little left of his godfather; even the knife he had given him had been nearly destroyed. So he would read this letter, damn it, and maybe for a minute he could pretend that Sirius had written it only a few hours ago…With his right hand over his heart, he began to read…

__

Harry-

If you're reading this, I am dead. I'm sorry for whatever circumstances led to this, and I am sorry that I left you alone. You have spent too much of your life alone, and now I have left you, too. I have never been one for writing letters, but believe me when I say there are no words to let you know how sorry I am to leave you.

I don't know if I ever showed it, but I loved you Harry. Maybe I loved you for the wrong reasons at one point, maybe I loved you because I had convinced myself you were James. But I don't feel that way anymore. Throughout the times we have spent together, I have gotten to know you, Harry, and I loved you for it. I loved you for caring about other people, I loved you for being upset at the thought that James was cruel when he was younger, I loved you for loving me when you didn't know me. I loved you because you were Harry.

And I am sorry, oh God, I am sorry that you are living the life you are. You deserve so much more, you deserve to bask in the love of Lily and James and you deserve to be spoiled rotten. You deserve everything I couldn't give you…

Harry, I could write forever and never let you know how I feel about you, how I wish I could have spent every year of your life with you. But I am gone now, and I hope you can move on. You have had too much sorrow in your life, and I am adding to it, but you will go on. You will go on and become an amazing, smart, funny, handsome, selfless man that people will be proud to claim they know. Not that you aren't all of those things already, but as time passes your traits will be magnified. You will have honor in heaven and on this earth because of who you are. You are Harry Potter. You are my godson.

I love you Harry, and before I stop writing, I want to tell you one last thing: Don't be afraid to cry, Harry. It isn't shameful, it isn't a sign that you are weak. I wept when Lily and James died, and I have had my share of tears since then. I hope that you will have no more cause to cry for the rest of your life, but these days my hopes and wished are not worth much. Just don't be afraid to cry, Harry.

I love you and miss you.

Sirius

As he read the letter, Harry could feel the sorrow building. The tears were gathering at his eyes, and a wail of pain growing in his throat. By the time he had finished, he had slid to the floor with his back to the wall. He had been gripping the letter so tightly he had cut off his circulation, and the letter fell from his whitened fingers.

The storm of grief was growing strength, and a second after he was done reading, it broke. He stuffed his fist into his mouth to choke the sobs. The tears coursed down his face and fell on his shirt, dots of wetness.

His body shook with suppressed sobs and moans. He didn't know how long he sat there crying. He wept until there were no more tears left in him and the room became silent save for his ragged breathing. As he closed his eyes and wiped his face, he thought to himself,

Now I can mourn you, Sirius. Now I can grieve.

THE END

I almost went through a mourning process when I found out that Sirius died. This was just my way of expressing my emotions, and hopefully a few of you can identify. As always….

REVIEW!


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